Searching
by redrachxo
Summary: Bertrand du Fortunesa visits Stokely Castle to search for the Chosen One and meets a most unusual breather. Set before Series 3 Episode 1. One Shot. Mild swearing. Please R&R. xo


_**I haz interwebs! YAY!**_

_**Major apologies to DiF readers, Internet situation over the past week and a half has been dire. I won't bore you with the details of my plight except to say that I have desperately missed your reviews and that normal posting shall resume on Saturday morning.**_

_**In the meantime, here is a cheeky one-shot that popped into my head and just wouldn't leave, please accept it as an apology ... Hope you enjoy it! xo**_

The last of the sunlight was creeping across the smouldering remains of Stokely Castle, rich yellow light caressing the crumbling stone. Smoke lingered amongst the ruins twisting its dusty fingers around the remaining pillars. A darkly cloaked figure sat upon the edge of an exterior wall, face turned to the west as if they were watching the vivid sunset. Bertrand du Fortunesa shook out his travelling cape as quietly as possible and treaded softly upon the burnt grass as he made his way towards the lonely figure. Had his predictions come true? Had the Chosen One returned to his last known residence to survey the damage to his inheritance? Or to hunt for his sister - Ingrid Dracula, missing, presumed slain. It hardly mattered. Not when this could be the end of nearly four years of searching for Vladimir Dracula.

Stealthily, Bertrand climbed the shattered staircase, crawling up the rough remains of the wall when necessary until he reached the ledge where the caped figure sat. It crossed his mind that if this figure was the Chosen One then he really wasn't very observant. He should have noticed Bertrand's presence by now. Perhaps he had judged too soon as the figure glanced over his shoulder, caught sight of the vampire advancing steadily towards him and leapt, rather clumsily it must be admitted, to his feet with a dramatic swish of his cape. Bertrand paused in confusion as he took in the appearance of the teenage boy before him. Dark unruly hair, chalk-white pallor and dark eyes. Disappointment crashed through Bertrand. This boy did not resemble the Dracula fledging even if one allowed for the passing of years since the last known sighting.

The teenage boy walked haltingly towards him. "Vlad?" His voice was a hoarse whisper. The hope in his voice was painful to hear even for someone as heartless as Bertrand.

Realising that he was shrouded in shadows, Bertrand stepped into the fading light. Seconds later, his nostrils widened as the scent of breather reached them, another couple of seconds was all it took for Bertrand to sense a strong heartbeat. Scowling he strode towards the teenage boy, his eyes gleaming red, his fangs lowering...

"Oh." The teenage boy sighed deeply, his shoulders crunching together with dejection. He sat back down on the wall. "You're just another one of _them_."

It was enough to make Bertrand pause mid stride. He eyed the teenager's clothing suspiciously. What sort of breather wore a cape? He edged closer – not just any old cape, a genuine vampire cape, he could even see the outline of the Dracula crest upon the lapel. Hmm how curious. And he didn't seem remotely frightened. In fact if anything the breather seemed disappointed. This was a most unusual sentiment for his prey.

"Who are you?" The question surprised Bertrand by slipping out through his lips. Normally he didn't talk to his food. It gave them ideas. Made them think that they could somehow reason their way out of the situation. Still, he wasn't quite sure what to make of this strange boy.

The teenage boy leant forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his pointed chin into his cupped hands. "Robin Branagh." His dark eyes swept over Bertrand's appearance. He gave the vampire a smile that was oddly approving.

Bertrand found himself edging a little closer. It was best to be cautious; he hadn't survived four centuries by rushing into unknown situations. Something told him that this breather wasn't your average evening snack. "Why are you here?" he demanded.

"Same reason as you," the breather answered in a slightly bored tone. "I thought Vlad might come back. He looked up sharply at Bertrand, the intelligent gleam in his dark eyes making the vampire feel uneasy. "Why are you searching for him? Blood Brotherhood? High Council? Media?"

Bertrand shook his head as the litany of guesses continued. This breather knew far too much about the vampire world. "Vlad?" he said questioningly. There was a disturbing familiarity in the way this breather spoke the name.

The breather cocked his head slightly to the side and smirked. "I asked you first." He patted the wall beside him as if gesturing for Bertrand to sit beside him.

Hmm. There was very little breathers could do to genuinely shock Bertrand but this teenage boy had just managed to do exactly that. Bertrand folded his arms across his chest and stared forcefully at the teenager in front of him. He deliberately let his gaze linger upon the boy's semi-exposed throat.

Robin, no, no, no the _breather_ gave him a grin. "I wouldn't bite me if I were you," he said warningly. "I've got so much garlic in my bloodstream that your fangs will implode."

Bertrand sniffed the air menacingly.

"Odourless garlic. Tablets were on offer from that health shop my Mum likes." Robin's grin widened.

Annoyance intermingled with intrigue. It really wasn't appropriate for dinner to grin like at him like that. Bertrand sneered contemptuously, "Saving yourself for this '_Vlad_'?"

Robin nodded vigorously. "Pretty much." The intensity of his dark eyes made Bertrand feel discomfited. This breather really seemed to have the entire scenario mixed up. Didn't he understand that Bertrand was meant to be the one with the penetrating stare and smug knowing smile?

"Do you reckon you can find him"?

The question caught Bertrand off guard. "Yes," he answered with utter certainty. He had found all the other so called Chosen Ones. Vladimir Dracula's claim was stronger than most but going into hiding was unusual and four years amounted to Bertrand's longest search yet. However Bertrand would hunt down his quarry eventually. He always did.

He was completely unprepared for the almost joyous grin that spread across Robin's face. "Awesome," the breather enthused. He poked around in various pockets before producing a card that may have once been white and whose edges were curling upwards. He held it out to Bertrand.

Bertrand raised his eyebrows sceptically. He made no move to take the item from Robin's outreached hand.

"It's just my number. If you find him, let me know." Robin gave him a beseeching look.

Bertrand frowned fiercely as he shook his head. "What sort of breather are you? What possible business could you have with Vladimir Dracula?" He hadn't meant to sound quite so exasperated but frankly at this point he was being eaten alive by his curiosity.

Robin stood up squaring his shoulders defensively. "I'm his best mate." He met Bertrand's eyes and the vampire could feel the heat of the anger contained in their depths. "One way or another I'm going to bloody well find him again." There was a steely determination in his voice that somehow appealed to Bertrand. It evoked memories of his younger, more tempestuous self.

Bertrand took the card. At the time of Vladimir Dracula's claim there had been gossip about his father's unnatural associations with breathers. The name Branagh did sound vaguely familiar. He slipped the card into the pocket of his waistcoat. Such information could have its uses. He exchanged curt nods with Robin before turning to leave. Half-way down the stairwell, Bertrand realised, much to his affront, that he hadn't even attempted to bite Robin – no the breather. Well that would have to be rectified immediately.

* * *

Minutes later, as he sat sketching the last cinders of the dying sun, Robin felt a coldness press against his back, the hard scrape of fang against the left side of his neck. Sighing irritably, he turned his head slightly and met the vampire's red eyes without any hint of alarm. "Seriously mate," he said firmly, "Garlic, fangs, implode." The vampire's withdrawal was as silently sudden as his arrival. With a weary sigh Robin returned to his sketching, his heart heavy and painful in his chest. He wondered how many more nights he would spend waiting for Vlad. How many more years would he spend searching for his best mate?

'_Remember nothing of vampires. We do not exist'._

"Except you bloody well do," Robin muttered fiercely under his breath, "And I will find you Vlad, no matter what it takes, I will find you."


End file.
